Going Numb, No More Pleasures
by Thea Rea
Summary: [Tohru.Kyo] They would wither away before they passed thirty, even if their bodies moved. Their souls would be gone. One to heaven, one to hell. Such a pretty fate. Such a pretty fate.


**T i t l e --** Going Numb, No More Pleasure  
**A u t h o r --** Thea Rea.  
**P a i r i n g --** Kyo Sohma . Tohru Honda.  
**R a t i n g --** Mature, for a reason, I think.

**W a r n i n g s --** Some talk of sexual activities. Nothing to dramatic. Maybe a bit depressing.  
**D i s c l a i m e r --** I do not own Fruits Basket.

**N o t e s --** I wrote this when I was bored. Critize as you wish. It's a bit boring, to me. It was kind of sad to write. But then again, I'm bored and angered at the moment.

**Going Numb, No More Pleasure**

When they kissed, it was dry. There was no sparks that lit when they divulged in each others bodies, no romantic air as they fucked each other until they couldn't breathe. Their hearts didn't hammer as they did their actions, their minds didn't falter. It was almost as if they thought about it so hard as they did each other that they could hardly feel when they both released into each other. They couldn't feel each other anymore; numbness entered their souls when they were together. It almost seemed unhealthy. They saw a doctor about their condition, but they went separate. They got the same answer.

No one knew.

It was strange, but a sense of relief entered them at the same time. For some reason, they didn't want to feel anymore. After three years of being together, it didn't matter if they felt the other's body. There was no sweet foreplay, and no intense kissing. If there was kissing, it was to relieve anger, and usually ended up drawing blood. Scars tore at the woman's mouth, seams of them on her pink lips. His weren't the same, because she did not bite when she was angry. She pierced the skin on his back, though not from the pleasureful pain that she no longer felt, but from her frustrations coming out on him. His shoulder blades were marred with piercings, he never noticed.

They didn't care anymore.

There weren't screams anymore. No thrill of pleasure tore through her as he fucked her. She felt nothing, as said before. Numbness. As did he, her enticing looks were no longer so enticing. Her presence made him go numb. Made him feel nothing because her beauty had faded with the time they had spent together, years and years. Hundreds of years it felt, though it had only been two. Her seductive actions that he once fell for weren't there anymore. The glitter in her eyes were gone, just two blank pools of brown.

Sometimes, they'd try to feel something.

They would whisper into each others ears, hoping that some sort of shock would happen. Things that were sweet, and then things that were disgusting. Things that were enticing, yet grotesque. Naughty, in some ways. Lovely, in some other ways. But either way, naughty or lovely, sweet or disgusting, enticing or grotesque, nothing ever worked. Their bodies were not tense nor loose, they laid like they would to sleep, in a manner that was neither of the two before mentioned. It wasn't tiring, but it wasn't exciting. It was boring, pointless. There was nothing left.

And then they'd just lay there, and look at the ceiling.

There were times when they would talk to each other as they sat and watched the ceiling. Their words were just there to quell the silence, to stop it from advancing its kill. It was killing them in a way, their silent moments together. Words that parted lips were unanimated, blank, emotionless. And their faces were much the same. So . . . empty. It felt empty everywhere. Those times, when the silence over lapped all sound, and they stared at the ceiling, they would admit something. They would say it at the same time, almost every time. They would repeat it multiple times, and then they would fall asleep, the silence biting away, infecting them.

"I _**don't**_love you. I **_don't_** love you. I **_don't_** love you."

Repeated and repeated. Lyrics that were sworn into their heads, melting their once wonderful relationship. And the darkness would over take them, the light never once turned on in their room. The moon would light some of the room, it's fabricated silver glow accent the still beautiful and handsome features of the couple that lay side by side, sleeping. And sometimes they just slept for as long as they could, not daring to move from their dreams, because their dreams were wonderful. Their dreams were of the happy times, happy times.

_Happy_ times.

Where did those go?

To their dreams . . .?

And only their dreams.

It was a nice time when they slept, never moving from their positions. And when the sunlight would make them crack open their eyes, they would stare blankly at the ceiling and wait, and wait. They kept waiting, everyday. Waited for something. A spark, a light. A flame, a smolder. Something, they waited. Because every time they got up, they had to look at each other, and see the worn face of their counterpart, and they would mutter the same greeting every morning.

"It's not over."

"It will never be over."

"The confinement will last forever."

"We will rot away."

"Are you okay with that?"

"No."

"Neither am I."

"Then why don't we do something?"

"What can we do?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing."

And then the day continued, and as they days kept coming, they kept waking up to the same darkness. There would never be a conclusion to their dreadful moments together.

And they though they could be happy. Thought they could tough it out. But it was too long for either of them, too long. They would wither away before they passed thirty, even if their bodies moved. Their souls would be gone. One to heaven, one to hell. Such a pretty fate. Such a pretty fate.


End file.
